


All Hail the Magic Conch

by BurningDrum



Category: Lord of the Flies - William Golding
Genre: 20's AU, Crossdressing to save your life, Flapper!Ralph, M/M, Mobster!Jack, Ralph and Simon are platonic soul mates, Ralph is a light drinker, Time Travel, and this causes 50 percent of his problems, the other 50 percent are Jack
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-28
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-03 20:48:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 16,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5306246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BurningDrum/pseuds/BurningDrum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ralph and posse are just a bunch of lazy high schoolers who like to hang out and drink when they can. This is all well and good until one of the twin's "booz-a-palooza's" goes awry when the picking up of a strange conch causes strange dreams and visions throughout the group; particularly among Ralph. </p><p>Could the strange shell be calling him to a higher destiny? </p><p>Nah</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks as always to my editor/beta reader Kaitlyn!

“Guys, could we _please_ slow down?” Piggy called from the back seat, voice barely coming over the music blaring from the car’s blown out speakers.

“We’ll slow down--”

“When we’re dead!” Sam and Eric cackled from the front. Piggy squawked indignantly and Ralph chuckled into his hand as Simon patted his arm consolingly; the three of them squished in the backseat of the twin’s beat up yellow Fiat.

“Calm down Piggy, just try and enjoy the feeling of wind through your hair.”

“Yeah,” the twins called, “just enjoy the wind!” rolling down all the windows in the car until the buffeting sound and Piggy’s yelling were indistinguishable from each other. Ralph sniggered with the others and took the chance to stick his head out into the cool night breeze, enjoying the chance for fresh air; as much as he loved the twins, they really needed to clean out their car a little more often. 

“Where are we even going anyway?” Piggy whined resigned. They had been driving for over an hour now, and the bright lights of their home town had been replaced with the intermittent streetlight that cast a warm yellow glow in the car and did about jack shit to help the visibility of the back road they had taken.

“Does it even matter, Pigguns? It’s all about the adventure!” Eric winked from the passenger seat. Piggy gave him a deadpan stare, all too used and quite frankly just about done with either of their antics. Simon took pity on him.

“Sam and Eric said they found a nice beach that no one goes to,” he said, smiling serenely at the thought. Piggy’s face whitened and he opened his mouth to speak, stopping once to pointedly glare at the front seat and roll up his window before continuing.

“If no one goes,” he berated, “shouldn’t we be following their lead? There’s obviously a good reason that this place is practically deserted!”  
Ralph finally took pity as well: worry lines were etched deep into Piggy’s brow and his nervous energy was starting to affect Sam, who had been going faster and faster as time drew on. Ralph rolled up his window and reached over to pat his large friend’s shoulder.

“Hey, man, it’s all right,” he said consolingly. Piggy looked at him with almost desperate eyes, as if pleading for him to somehow lead him out of his fear. Ralph would of course; he always would. “Don’t you think it’ll be a nice change of scenery? You always mention how bright lights in the parking lot give you headaches,” he squeezed his shoulder and then smiled, as if remembering an old joke. “And what’s more suspicious, a bunch of kids at the beach at night or in a parking lot?”

The mood in the car seemed to visibly relax as Piggy exhaled slowly and nodded, his face returning to its normal hue, much to Ralph’s relief. Meeting his eyes in the rearview mirror, Sam smiled and began to speak in what he thought must have been an impressive announcer voice: 

“Well, Ralphs and gentleman!”--Ralph snorted--”Are you all ready for the grand unveiling?” he waggled his eyebrows and Eric began whooping in mock anticipation. They had pulled off the road, taking a dirt path that left the car rocking back and forth.

“Yeah, yeah okay we get it the party train has arrived: harrah,” Ralph grinned. “Now are you gonna show us this beach or what? I’m starting to think it doesn’t even exist.”

Sam rolled his eyes, but smiled nonetheless as he put the car into park. “Alright party pooper, but don’t blame me when you go in... **unprepared**.” His voice had lowered into a demonic whisper at the last word as he shut off the car, leaving the group in a sudden still darkness that had even Ralph momentarily paralyzed. 

“What the fuck dude,” his voice rang in the silence. His response was a single cackle--whether from Sam or Eric he didn’t know--and the opening of a car door. Behind him, he could hear someone fiddling around with the lock on the trunk and Eric’s face was suddenly illuminated by a flashlight, giving it an eerie glow.

“Better get your flashlights out boys; its gonna be a real trek,” his smile looking downright evil in the focused light.  
Ralph could barely make out the furrowing of Simon’s brow. “I thought we were going to a beach, Eric. I didn’t bring shoes to hike in.”

“And _I_ can’t _hike_ ,” Piggy glared. Eric held up one of his hands in surrender as the trunk opened.

“Hey, hey, _hey_ guys! I said it was a _trek_ not a hike!” his eyes flickered towards Ralph’s in a silent plea. “And it’ll be a real adventure, right Ralph?”

Ralph heard the clinking of beer bottles behind him and snorted: apparently a twin’s bond only went so far when alcohol was involved. He decided he would take the bait and jump to Eric’s rescue, if only for the sake of finding out where the hell they were going. 

“Yeah, okay, an adventure, sure,” he acquiesced. “But exactly how long is a trek to you?” he asked, crossing his arms.

“And please tell me there’s an actual beach!” Piggy whined. 

Before Eric could put either of them at ease, or try to at any rate, the door near Piggy was yanked open by Sam; quickly loping his free, un-beer cooler laden arm around him. Behind him, Ralph could see the beginnings of woods.

“Since when did you all become such a bunch of pussies? It’s just a little walk!” he challenged. “Besides, you all really gonna pass up on the chance to partake in some sweet _spirits_ \--” he jostled the cooler on this word enticingly--”in a place that isn’t Piggy’s meat locker man cave?”

They all stared at the cooler with longing. Even Piggy, despite having his “meat locker man cave’s” reputation sneered at was having a hard time finding the downside of enjoying a good drink without animal carcasses hanging in his immediate peripheral. 

Eric gently shook Piggy, “Whaddya say guys? Forbidden beach paradise or--”he squished Piggy’s face with his hand--”an old woman’s butcher shop?”  
Ralph sighed, knowing this wasn’t altogether fair to his chubbier friend, but wanting to risk the walk all the same; besides, he wasn’t sure if he could stand the smell of old fast-food and weed much longer. Before he could open his mouth and defend said friend’s meaty “sanctuary” however, Piggy was already pushing past Eric without another word, resolutely into the dark past the Fiat. 

Sam and Eric grinned and high fived in victory, “Well that looks like that--” “let’s get going--” “assholes!” they yelled jumping out of the car, joining each other on the last word. 

Ralph let his head fall against the front seat before slowly turning to Simon, already feeling the formation of a headache: this might be a long night.

“Please tell me you at least brought a flashlight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is set in modern day America cuz I don't wanna make a fool of myself by trying to write about a couple of English lads lbr here (although I did get my inspo for Sam 'n Eric from the Inbetweeners because honestly, look at those fools)
> 
> So yeah this is my first published fic and I'm rly excited! If you guys wanna, hmu at sorrymrgolding.tumblr.com


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as always to my editor/beta reader Kaitlyn! This story wouldn't be half as eloquent w/o you

“I can’t believe I actually listened to you two,” Piggy wheezed from somewhere behind him. Ralph was relieved he actually had the foresight to bring his inhaler with him; he wasn’t sure if he could carry a 280 lb boy on a regular day, let alone through the woods at night. They had been walking steadily for a good hour at least, and somewhere in the last 30 minutes and in between the twin’s insistence of them being “almost there,” Ralph had to admit he was beginning to agree with his poor asthmatic friend. Despite their “guide’s” persistence in the idea of there being a trail and that they were most definitely following it, he was pretty damn sure the group had been travelling practically blind since they first left. What with the mosquitos and multiple ant piles he had stepped in so far, Ralph was just about ready to kiss the nearest meat locker he saw if it meant he didn’t have to walk a step farther. 

He threw down his backpack and collapsed onto the ground with a huff, uncaring of the insect assault his ass might pay for later. Piggy didn’t seem to need to be asked twice either and quickly dropped down next to him; no doubt the humid air and long walk taking its toll.

“I agree with Piggy guys: I think we’re lost. It might just be a better idea to start heading back before we lose the car too,” Ralph grimaced. The thought of driving back another hour with a bunch of cranky boys, sober, in probably the (sorry twins) shittiest car he had ever seen was not an appealing thought.

Sam and Eric turned around from where they had been leading, looking decidedly less excited than they had an hour ago, but still determined nonetheless. They plopped the cooler on the ground and took a seat on it side by side, putting their hands on their knuckles and scrutinizing Ralph in a way that would be infuriating if it didn’t look so ridiculous. He knew that look; it meant they weren’t going to give up any time soon.

“Sam--” Ralph began to plead, hoping the more reasonable twin would understand the predicament his poor bitten ankles were going through, but he was quickly interrupted by Eric.

“I know what we need!” he snapped his fingers, “We never got tell you what’s so special about this place did we?”

“What, that it’s in the ass end of nowhere?” Piggy muttered.

“No,” he continued, unfazed. He put his flashlight under his eyes, “They say that around 100 years ago, an infamous mob boss lived in this city, and that this--” he paused dramatically as both he and Sam widened their eyes, “was his dumping ground.”

“Bullshit!” cried Piggy, clinging to Ralph. Ralph rolled his eyes; the twins always sounded a bit too much like an infomercial for his liking.

“It’s true!” he yelled with relish. “Whenever things needed to be “taken care of” he’d take them out here and BAM!” he pretended to shoot Sam in the head, who rolled theatrically onto the ground; Ralph rolled his eyes harder, hoping one of them would maybe take the hint. “But that’s not all!” he continued.

“Now you’re really sounding like you’re trying to sell me something,” Ralph snorted.

“But that’s not all!” he said louder. “It all came to a peak when one day when his girlfriend was apparently kidnapped and taken here, and he went _beserk_. They say he slaughtered so many people that day that you can still find bones just laying around,” he whispered ominously. Sam, who had yet to get off the ground, rose his arms up slowly and begun to make “ghost noises.”

It was at this point that a breeze chose to blow through the treetops and Ralph noticed the unusual silence of the woods; the crickets had stopped their chirping and not a single owl could be heard. Goosebumps rose up his arms, despite his steady heart. He convinced himself that it was just the chill of the wind.

“You took us to a mass graveyard?!” Piggy held Ralph in a death grip, and Ralph patted his friend consolingly; he was always too scared of the supernatural, despite insisting on its nonexistence. Ralph on the other hand was always able to enjoy a good ghost story or two, so long as they weren’t preceded by hour long mosquito ridden walks through the woods and their subsequent ominous silence.

“And who is “they” exactly?” he began to rise before either of the twins could try to defend themselves. “Sorry, but the idea of some Godfather wannabe isn’t exactly terrifying, try harder next time.” He wasn’t exactly sure who he was trying to convince.

“But it’s true!” they yelled in tandem, offended.

Ralph waved them off, “Yup, I’m sure it is, and I’ll be sure to look it up as soon as I’m back home. C’mon Piggy.” However, Piggy refused to move. In the dim glow of his phone-light, he could see that his friends face had gone as pale as the ghost’s described by the twins. His heart sped up.

“Piggy? What’s wrong? Don’t let their stupid story get to you man.” He reached down to grab his arm, and was shocked to find Piggy shaking; his skin having gone clammy.

“R-r-ra-ralph,” he stammered; his eyes were glued forwards, like he had seen something and could no longer look away.

“Holy shit dude, are you okay?” he immediately knelt down to look into his face, and Sam and Eric huddled around them, forming a sort of protective barrier. 

“If this is about the ghost story man, then--” they began.

“It’s not that!” Piggy cried, looking around frantically.

“It’s okay dude, just say what you need to, you’re safe,” Ralph murmured comfortingly, rubbing circles in the small of his back. It was then that he realized what little he could offer. They were five boys alone in the woods with--he checked a while ago--no signal to call for help: what good could he really do to keep his friend safe?  
To keep any of his friends safe? He felt utterly helpless. 

“It’s not me I’m worried about! It’s Simon!” Piggy finally yelled, breaking Ralph from his reverie.

The trio looked about each other in varying degrees of confusion.

“But Simon’s--” Eric began,

“Holy fuck,” Sam seemed to voice aloud for him as his eyes widened, until all four of them were looking around panicked.

“How did we _lose_ Simon?” yelled Ralph, as he flashed his light into some bushes, as if Simon would just pop out and say ‘haha, surprise!’

“I don’t know! Goddamnit, come out you damn airhead!” Eric replied, kicking a nearby tree to take out his anger.

“Ummm, guys?” Sam’s voice called over from where he was still comforting Piggy. The two looked over to see him pointing his finger ominously towards farther down the trail where the barest hint of a speck of light was moving back and forth.

“Oh FUCK no!” Eric was at Ralph’s side in seconds, squeezing his arm so tightly it began to feel numb; Ralph couldn’t say he was exactly thrilled by this either. 

“We’re dead we’re dead we’re gonna die ohmygod--” Piggy began rocking himself back and forth. Almost as if cued on by this, the light began to move faster and faster, growing in size. All at once, the group of boys let out a string of curses, nearly trampling each other in their rush to run away. Farther back in his mind, in the more rational part, Ralph thought that perhaps that lights was a person, was in fact a person. But truly, it was all too much for him: his goosebumps had refused to go down since before and the rise and fall of that light in the near silent forest paint an almost surreally horrifying picture. 

“Guys, wait up!” a voice yelled. But the boys paid no mind to it, all they heard was the racing of their hearts and the sound of their ragged breathing. 

“Guys-!” it was at this call that two miraculous--as Eric would later describe it--things happened.

One: Piggy,being shorter than the rest and slower, realized too late the mass of spiderwebs that everyone else had avoided. The only thought on his--most of the time--brilliant mind was RUN. And run he did. He ran into the large web and shrieked as it covered his glasses.

“It’s got me!” he flailed, and threw his meaty hands towards his face in an effort to remove it, only succeeding in throwing his glasses somewhere into the foliage. He gasped and, at least in some sort of sense, having his priorities straight, threw himself after them. 

Two: It being a forest and also night time with Simon running at full speed were not the best combination when there was a helpless Piggy crouched on the ground. In a fantastic flailing of limbs, Simon tripped over his friend and, searching for some sort of purchase found it in the form of Ralph’s shorts; earning a surprised squawk from former and a yelp from the latter. 

In a matter of seconds he, too, was falling forwards; arsecheeks for the world to see.

_Well, at least I’m wearing my nice boxers today_ , Ralph thought from where he lay face down in the dirt.

The footsteps in front of them came to a halt. 

“Simon?” Piggy whispered hopefully.

“Yup,” he wheezed, hand still extended forward to hold onto Ralph’s shorts where they lay about his ankles.

“Holy shit,” Sam ‘n Eric guffawed. Even Piggy had gotten up and was now staring down at the two of them. “If my phone wasn’t a piece of shit you’d bet that Calvin Klein wearing ass of yours there’d be incriminating photos,” Eric held his sides with the force of his laughter.

“Yeah, yeah okay laugh it up,” Ralph grumbled, almost tripping again in his effort to get up. This only set everyone except Simon laughing even more, who was trying to hold back his grin as he helped him up. Ralph was thankful for the darkness as he battled the redness in his cheeks as he pulled up his shorts; the twins weren’t going to let him live this down for a while. But there were more important things to deal with at the present than his embarrassment. He turned to Simon, who was wiping dirt off his clothing and looked, as far as Ralph could tell, completely innocent. 

“Simon,” he looked up, “Where the hell did you _go?_ ” In fact, though he would never say this out loud lest he hurt Simon, he had never even seen the dark haired boy leave.

“Yeah, what the hell was that man?” Sam crossed his arms while Eric put his on his hips in offense. “Yeah, you’re not supposed to scare the story tellers, dickhead.”

Simon put his hands up in surrender, obviously not prepared for such harsh questioning. “I’m sorry! I didn’t notice you guys weren’t following, and before I knew I found this building and I wanted to have a look around so--”

“Wait what--” “what building?” Sam and Eric asked, all anger forgotten in the face of curiosity.

Simon dusted off his shorts one last time and looked at them quizzically. “Wasn’t that where you were taking us: that old little shack thing down the trail?” He pointed with his thumb back towards where they had run from. The twins eyes seemed to sparkle at this new information and Piggy moaned.

“No! No, no, no, no! I’ve already had enough panic attacks for tonight you assholes! And no way am I going to just waltz right in there and become a part of some serial killer’s wet dream _thank you very much!_ ”

“It looked pretty abandoned when I went in there,” Simon cut in, running a hand through his hair absentmindedly. He didn’t seem particularly invested in its exploration, but he wasn’t completely against it either. Rather, he could sense the need for something other than mindless walking through woods, and was trying to serve it.

“Even _more_ of a reason not to go!” Piggy huffed. He turned towards Ralph pleadingly, “You’re not really gonna let them do this, are you?” He had been silent ever since the Simon had brought up mention of the cabin, an odd, fluttering feeling settling itself at the bottom of his gut; he couldn’t decide whether it was fear or excitement. Maybe he was getting fatigued from all this walking?

“I don’t know,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck anxiously. “Maybe we could just go in and...check it out?” At this, the twins whooped and Simon beamed. Ralph threw an apologetic look at Piggy as the group began to make its way down the trail again; however, his eyes remained resolutely downcast. 

“Alright, then let’s go! I’m pretty sure I remember the way,” Simon turned round and led them back towards whence they came. Sam ‘n Eric followed eagerly, chattering like squirrels and reminding him that they would have to stop and pick up the cooler that they had abandoned in their haste. Behind them, Ralph and Piggy followed in silence.

“Piggy…” Ralph murmured. But Piggy would pay him no mind, turning his head to the side childishly and refusing to speak a word. Ralph gave an exasperated sigh: fine, if he wanted to act like a scared child then he could do what he wanted. He was tired of having to look after him all the time anyway.

Farther up ahead, Simon began to divert them from the path, picking his way through the underbrush with ease while Sam and Eric practically tripped over one another in their quest to find leverage. He could hear, even at his distance and with the loud snapping of twigs and branches the twins bickering.

“I’ve been carrying it all night!” Eric, hissed, referring to the cooler.

“Well, you’re the one who wanted to bring it in a cooler in the first place! We could have put it in our backpacks!”

“It’s just a little ways up ahead,” Simon called, interrupting them, and Ralph’s heart sped up uncontrollably, although for what reason he was unsure. Perhaps it was the thought of the cabin itself, the promise of exploration it held. He had always been drawn to exploring new areas, much to his friend’s occasional chagrin. It was as if he was searching for something, and every new area only seemed to leave him more and more unsatisfied...

They were all halted in their tracks by Simon’s hand: they had arrived and luckily too, for though at one point in time it may have been a rather sturdy building, its walls had long since rotted and covered in overgrowth, making it almost blend in with its surroundings. The walls were covered in green lichen, giving it the appearance of an almost natural thing of the forest. And there was only one window in the front, surprisingly unbroken even after all these years. It was covered in a great amount of dust, however, making it impossible to see the inside even when lit. Surprisingly, it was not as small as Ralph had pictured it; when Simon had called it a shack, he had pictured just that, a small one room little hovel. However, this could at least be called a cabin, being fairly large enough to house a small family and then some.

Ralph was the first to step forward, the invisible string attached to his gut pulling him towards it. Somewhere behind him he faintly registered Piggy’s voice calling out to him in concern, but ignored it in favor of putting his hand atop the simple rusted door knob, shivering at the touch. Despite the night’s humidity, goosebumps had risen up his arms once again and he had the unmistakable feeling that something was waiting for him beyond that door. He shivered and mentally shook himself; he was letting the twins rile him up too much, now was not the time to--

“In--” “you go!” Ralph barely had time to react as two sets of hands pushed him forward into a wall of musty air. A chorus of laughter erupted behind him as he tripped over hell knows what, having dropped his phone--his light source he should say, since it was useless out here--in surprise. 

“That wasn’t funny you dicks!” he coughed, waving at the cloud of dust that had blown in front of him. He sincerely hoped that this wasn’t going to become a new habit of his. Reaching out gingerly in the dark, Ralph hoped to god that no animal had made this its permanent residence, and that he was now trespassing. It was hopeless, however; neither phone nor animal seemed to make itself known to Ralph’s searching hands. With a muttering of curses towards his friend’s direction, he rose to his feet and took a tentative step forward.

“Do you….do you see anything?” Piggy’s voice called out behind him. 

_Oh, now he’s talking to me_ , Ralph thought somewhat bitterly. He considered giving him the silent treatment as well, but decided against being equally as childish; there were better places than abandoned cabins in the woods.

Ralph shook his head in answer, until he realized where he was. He continued forward, hoping that maybe he would come across his phone if he just walked one step farther...

“I can’t even see my own ha-aaAAAHHH!” a scream was wrenched out of him as without warning the floorboards gave way with a crack that sounded like thunder in the quiet forest. 

“Ralph! Ralph!” the muffled voices of the twins called out to him. He coughed away the pain in his chest and rolled onto his side; he could tell from the feel of the floor he had landed on some sort of dirt packed basement, although telling anything else would be useless without his flashlight. Ralph rose and dusted himself off, glaring up towards the hole in the ceiling.

“Having fun up there, assholes?!” The guilty faces of the twins appeared at his accusation.

“We didn’t know that would happen, Ralph!” “Honest!”

Ralph groaned and rubbed the bridge of his nose: this night was really shaping up to be one hell of a shit storm. At this rate, he’d be lucky if he left here even slightly inebriated and with an uncracked phone screen. 

“Alright, well, do you think you could toss me a flashlight so I can at least get out of here?” he sighed.

“Yeah-” “Yeah, sure man-” “No, problem!” the twins nodded vigorously, then disappeared, no doubt eager to try and save their failed “booze-a-palooza.”

Ralph rubbed his temples: he had meant, could he borrow one of _their_ flashlights, but he supposed waiting slightly longer for them to find his phone wouldn’t make sitting in a dark, dank hole, much worse. Ralph shivered and held his arms close to his sides; why the hell was this basement so _cold_ anyway? He looked around, but the only light came from above where he could see the movements of what was no doubt flashlights back and forth, leaving his visibility poorly lacking. Looked like searching for a heater of any kind was going to have to wait. At the thumping sound of footsteps approaching, he looked up expectantly.

“Delivery for Ralph Blakely,” sang Simon’s voice from the ceiling. Ralph couldn’t help but chuckle at the angelic picture Simon presented: bathed in light and holding his _uncracked_ phone of all things.

“Wow, my angel,” he smiled, catching the pseudo-flashlight as his friend tossed it down. “Where was it anyway? I couldn’t find it anywhere when I was up there.”  
Simon furrowed his brow, “It was right where you fell, how did you…?” he trailed off and looked upwards, looking deeply disturbed.

“Ummm, Simon?” called Ralph, he hated it when he got into these kinds of moods: the kind where he just seemed to stare off with a worried look on his face. The day would never feel right when he did so, and as much as Ralph tried to brush it off, it would always end with something bad happening. Simon was the one person who made him feel superstitious. 

“Oh, no no, it’s nothing,” his voice sounded reassuring, but his still furrowed brows betrayed him. “Do you think you’ll be able to make it out of there, or do you want me to come down too?” he asked, already looking ready to jump down. Ralph waved him off

“I’ll be fine! We don’t need someone actually getting hurt. Besides, it’s just a basement right?” he realized a little too late that he sounded more like he was trying to convince _himself_ rather than his friend, and he waved it off again. “Really!”

Simon didn’t look convinced, but dropped it anyway. “Well...if you say so. The others are already inside, I’m gonna go meet up with them and we’ll see if we can find a way into the basement from there.” Ralph nodded at this and already began turning around before Simon’s voice caught him again.

“Oh, and Ralph?” he turned back around. Simon’s face was etched with worry and his hands clenched so tightly at the edges of the hole Ralph was surprised he wasn’t getting splinters.”Be careful.” 

And then he was left alone. 

Ralph gulped; way to scare a guy shitless, Simon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I pride myself in having rly weirdly specific headcanons 
> 
> i.e. Ralph would totally wear Calvin Klein


	3. Chapter 3

He really should have let Simon come down with him, screw injuries.

All noise from the outside seemed to vanish--not even the wind could be heard now--leaving Ralph with only the sound of his heavy breathing. The silence was almost deafening, and his ears kept tuning in to the slightest creak of the basement’s walls. And god damn it why was it so _cold?!_

_Alright, I’m just psyching myself out with Sam n’ Eric’s ghost bullshit; Simon already said there was nothing down here._ Yet, the perturbed look on his friend’s face kept coming back to haunt him. What could possibly be down here that would have shaken him up so much…?

He took a deep breath and flashed his light around, almost expecting to see a face pop out of the darkness. However, he was only met with a mostly empty room, save for a lone chair and table that stood in the middle; there wasn’t a single door or staircase in sight.

_That’s...not suspicious at all._

Ralph hesitantly made his way over to the old furniture and inspected it: what the hell was it doing down here? He could tell by it’s rotten state that it was just as old as the rest of the shack, although really, he didn’t know if that relieved or scared him more. If there really wasn't a way in or out of here, then logically the chair and table was just as out of place as he was. He put his phone closer towards the table: maybe if he saw how it got in there (something that heavy _had_ to leave scuff marks as it was dragged) then he could find a way out.

_Huh, that’s odd..._

When shining his light upon the surface of the table, he had thought he saw something. He bent down closer to take a look and inhaled sharply; going into a coughing fit as the dust from the old wooden surface went straight into his lungs. Wheezing to the point where he was pretty sure he had put on a worthy Piggy impression, Ralph focused his phone’s light once more. Crudely carved all over the table's surface was…well, _carvings_ quite frankly. It looked as if someone had taken a knife and slashed away at the tabletop: starting from the middle and leading towards one end.

_Why are the lines so...precise?_

Ralph was close enough to see that the knife-marks--for they could be nothing else--had to be handmade, for there was no polish or sanding in the wood to suggest otherwise.

_Maybe this was their way of taking their anger out?_ He was old enough to know that some boys his age preferred more physical ways of releasing their emotions, even though he never quite understood it. The thought that someone was angry enough to come all the way out here with a weapon and then use it though? A little bit worrisome.

_Worrisome, but unlikely._ The knife-marks were too precise for anyone to make in an emotional outburst, and the fact that they only covered half the table was just as perplexing.

_And **how** did it even get in here?!_ Ralph had looked down at the floor and saw not a single disturbance of the dust (actually quite relieving; Piggy could rest easy knowing there weren't any killers in the area) nor one scuff mark. And he knew there was no ladder exit considering he had fallen through soggy floorboards, not a trapdoor. He sighed and went to lean against the table: he wasn't going to spend his entire night in a basement damn it. 

_Zap!_

“Ow! What the hell?!” Ralph cried aloud, his voice a boom in the quiet space. As soon as his fingers had made contact with the table’s edge, a terrible stinging feeling had shot up his hand right to his head, with a force that made his eyes water. He brought his hand to his chest and rubbed it, checking for wounds. Not a single one was to be found and Ralph would be sure that he had imagined it all were there not tears running down his cheeks as testimony to what had just happened.

Now, Ralph liked to think he was fairly smart in most circumstances. He certainly wasn't dumb and he knew what needed to be done. That’s why, when reflecting upon the whole disaster later, he would blame what he did next on the awful ache that was beginning to set itself between his eyes. Such awful pain could be the only perpetrator for the clouding of all his rational thought. 

Ralph extended his hand once more, letting it hover over the table warily. When no dangerous thing seemed to pop out at him, he plopped down his hand with a large smack, much like the mentality of someone jumping into cold water to get it over with. He never realized he was holding his breath until nothing seemed to happen, and he let it all out in a great whoosh of air. 

_I'm really just being an idiot,_ he inwardly chuckled, _I need to stop making such a big deal about some old pieces of furniture._  
Still laughing about this, Ralph began to move towards the farther end of the basement to look for a possible escape route; secretly hoping to be as far away from electric wooden furniture as possible. It was no more than a few steps when he felt a strong pull on his arm and he nearly fell backwards in surprise, choking on a yell. In a move that would make any horror movie star envious, Ralph slowly turned around--once again holding his breath--and gave an experimental tug of his arm, but to no avail: it was stuck.

“What the hell!?” breath coming out in a cold fog, he hissed for the second time that night (inwardly hoping that cursing to himself while alone in dark scary rooms wasn’t going to become a _thing_ ; definitely not the type of habit you want to develop.) He knew for a fact that the table’s surface was completely dry of any _anything _when he last touched it; least of all **Ralph Glue.**__

__At his expletive, an angry buzzing sound seemed to rise from the night’s background noise--or lack thereof--and set his jaw clenching. He couldn't pinpoint its location, whether it seemed to come from everywhere or inside his head, and he held his head with his free hand at the force of it._ _

___That was a **very** bad idea,_ was the only thought running through his mind. That, along with: _ _

__“What the fuck!” he dropped his phone in his confusion and curled in on himself. The buzzing was only getting worse and worse by the minute; like someone cranking up a sound dial without regard for safety, and Ralph was right next to the speakers. Anyone who saw him then might have labeled him a madman; he had taken his jacket and dragged it over his head in an almost animal like way of fear and he had inadvertently begun rocking himself back and forth the best he could with his one arm still stuck in an upward position. And perhaps he really was turning into a madman, for he swore that he heard voices underneath the loud buzzing._ _

___Secure--doors! ----Merridew---n’t---or--s gal! **Hey, bitch** \---ming!__ _

__Ralph flinched; the voices sounded like they were coming through a wall of static, like an old tv that still relied on antenna to get its reception. He also couldn’t help but feel that those biting words were directed at him, and he trembled at the fact that he could only use one arm to hide his face._ _

___Someone please! Make this stop!_ Ralph was near tears now, his head feeling like it was about to split open; like someone had taken it and smashed it against a wall. Ralph blearily remembered the one time he had gotten into a fight with the school’s bully--he had been bullying Piggy for months and getting under Ralph’s skin just for the hell of it. Ralph had come home that day, much to the chagrin of his parents, with a swollen eye and one hell of a headache, feeling nauseous for days. He had thought that nothing could be worse than the pain he felt from having his body used as a punching bag by a 13 year old jackass. But with age came knowledge. And with that came the insight that there were far worse things than a preteen’s tiny fists banging on your skull (although he would argue that that would come as a close second; that kid was vicious.)_ _

__Much like back then, Ralph was nearly sick with the force of the throbbing in his skull and was just about ready to resign himself to the pain. The buzzing even seemed to jumble his thoughts, filling him with an overall sense of dread._ _

___Maybe he’d just have to accept that he’d be here in this basement for the rest of his life. No one would ever find him, and if they did...would he be dead by then?_ The current agony in his head definitely felt like it could kill him. Ralph inwardly prayed again for anyone, anything, to make this all stop. Even him passing out would be fine._ _

__In one last crescendo, perhaps to spite him, the buzzing reached an all time high that sent Ralph whimpering and sobbing at its intensity. And then..._ _

__Beautiful blissful silence, so sudden that it almost hurt his ears as much the buzzing._ _

__As suddenly as it had come, the loud buzzing had simply vanished, as if someone had actually answered his prayer. It seemed--or Ralph guessed as much later when he was able to think coherently--that that last vehement surge was its dying breath._ _

__Ralph’s arm was released and he collapsed completely against the dirt floor, laying his head against the earth and listening to the sound of his shuddering breath; his phone had fallen, obscuring his only light source and leaving him in total darkness. There was something different about this darkness from that of the top floor however, that left him uneager to move: it was comforting, as if it cradled him in it’s arms rather than suffocated him. The sounds of the night had finally returned and Ralph could say for the first time that night he felt at peace._ _

__Perhaps it was because he was finally coming down from his adrenaline high; that odd feeling in his gut no longer lingering and making him feel stuck between threatened and elated. Or perhaps because the feel of the house seemed to have, at least for that second, _changed._ There, at that moment, he was safe. There, there were singing crickets and gentle darkness and even gentler calloused fingers running through his hair and a pair of chapped lips peppering gentle kisses on the back of his neck. Ralph could hear soft cooing--so different from the words hissed at him before--although he couldn't hear the words underneath the now loud sounds of the night.It didn't matter however, the message still came across. _ _

__He sighed contentedly as those calloused hands began to caress his face: he really could lie here forever._ _

__Wait._ _

__Hands…?_ _

__Oh _fuck_ no._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took kinda long??? Chapter 4 is turning into like, a monster (at least by my standards), so this is actually the product of me splitting off a piece of it and tweaking it so it's a bit more chapter-y. Anyway thanks to everyone who's left kudos and comments so far!! You guys are my lifeblood/motivation.
> 
>  
> 
> Ralph Glue: for all your Ralph-gluing needs; coming to a supermarket near you


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much to my editor Kaitlyn! This chapter was a bitch for the both of us, but you came through like always <3
> 
> For chris: warning!!! slight ralmon in this chapter!!

Ralph let out an ear piercing screech that was guaranteed to wake the dead if his earlier fall hadn’t. Angry buzzing tables were one thing, but cuddly ghosts? He could only deal with so much in one night. Scrambling to pick up his phone, he didn’t even check to see if he was alone as he began to run...somewhere in that goddamned basement.

_Ralph…!_

Oh god, if this was some kind of sick joke from the twins he was going to kill them. The words “gone too far” didn’t exactly mean anything to them.

_Ralph…!_

But no, although the voice was distinctly male, it was completely unfamiliar and came out garbled; almost as if he was listening to it while underwater.  
He turned around--having reached the farthest wall and quite frankly, his wit’s end--ready to confront the voices owner, whatever it may be. 

But he saw nothing, not a single thing.

That terrified him even more; how was he supposed to stop something he couldn’t see? Ralph let out a shuddering breath, feeling like a deer in headlights as he was unable to do anything more than wait for the voice’s next move. 

A great clunking noise sounded from his left and he let out a rather unmanly squeak, nearly jumping several feet into the air. He couldn't help but cough several times and look around as if daring someone to mock him; Sam n’ Eric had poked fun at him constantly for having a higher pitched voice than them, to the point that he thought he might be developing a decent complex. Those assholes would use any chance to turn something into a joke. He was at least conscious enough of it to be worried of a ghost’s opinion for christ’s sake.

Ralph turned warily to glare at the culprit, expecting maybe a rat or, god forbid, the twins, but was instead met with a hidden door; its handle a barely visible bar along the side. The door had opened just enough for him to tell it apart from the rest of the wall, which explained the clunking sound: something that old seemed like it would fall straight off the hinges at any second.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Ralph muttered. He was secretly hoping that if he acted exasperated enough, he could ignore the feeling of the hairs rising at the back of his neck. 

Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Ralph ~~ran~~ briskly walked down the hall.

The passageway was interspersed with doors, each in their own separate states of decay. Some had even broken down completely, and left nothing but rusted hinges and gaping holes of inky darkness. Ralph ignored all of these, that strange gut feeling (which he had ironically dubbed his “sixth sense”) leading him onwards.

_What kind of place is this? Who the hell makes a basement so big!?_

A thought flashed through Ralph’s mind as he jumped over the remains of a door; he really seemed to have landed himself in the wet dream of some serial killer. If it weren't for his sixth sense guiding him through what seemed to be a mass underground network, he could probably spend hours wandering the dark halls, maybe even days.

Ralph slowed down to a comfortable jog and, when hearing no further voices, stopped completely to catch his breath. Hanging out with Piggy and the twins so much lately had changed him quite a bit from the athletic boy he used to be, but he liked to think he made up for that with his stubbornness and (occasional) intellect. He would get just a _little_ too upset with his father’s obvious cheats during family game night (a well known tactic to make him angry) and sit there for hours trying to win even though it was inevitable. His mother always loved to tease him that they would all be doomed the day he met someone as stubborn as him, claiming it would be a match made in heaven; but he would disagree with her. After all, why would he willingly give his time to someone that would only irritate him? He swore, his mother just made no sense sometimes.

With that in mind, Ralph pushed himself off the wall he was leaning against, lungs once again full of air. The thought of his mother had jarred him from his daydream; he was stuck for the moment, like hell was he going to call his parents at this time of night and tell him he was trapped in an abandoned building an hour out of town. His father would probably leave him there until daytime, just to teach him a lesson. Ralph began a leisurely stride forward, feeling not exactly safe, but safer now that the voices hadn’t appeared for some time. He had deduced, in a way that he was sure Simon would be proud, that the root of whatever he had heard was coming from the room he had crashed in.

Speaking of which, where was Simon? He had promised to try and find another way along with the others to Ralph, so shouldn’t Ralph at least hear him stumbling around? Was is possible that he had gotten himself lost down here as well?

Ralph’s gut clenched uncomfortably at the thought of any of his friends getting hurt for his sake. As much as he hated being alone, he preferred it to any of the group experiencing...whatever he had back there. Ralph shuddered at the mere thought of it: he had always thought Simon as the more susceptible to “experiences.” If he were to accidentally stumble in that room, or another one like it, who knew what could happen to him; Ralph’s breakdown probably wouldn’t even compare. He still remembered vividly the first time he met Simon: the two of them had only been 12.

_The school had organized a field trip to an old county jail; partly due to the fact that it was cheap, and partly because every middle schooler is a brutal critic unless it’s something that scares the piss out of them. So, naturally, having this understanding, the school had taken them there at night, where they could be as obnoxious as they pleased and not bother the other tourists. Ralph and Piggy had already known each other for quite some time--since they were seven--and Ralph’s immaturity had sometimes made him a bully rather than a friend._

_At present, the tour group was standing in the vestibule of the jail where the poor guide tried her very best to be informative over sleep deprivation and noisy, uncaring pre-teens. None of them really cared for this part anyway--it was only required so that this trip looked educational--everyone was waiting for the latter part of the tour: the ghost tour. Standing near the back of the group, Ralph and Piggy--or Peter Butterfield at the time, for he was not yet 16 and drinking in his auntie’s meat freezer--had both proclaimed their general disinterest in the entire thing. Although, seeing as how they were both 12 years old, they were also both dirty liars. Peter was clinging to Ralph and shaking nervously, while the latter stood and looked at everything with as much admiration and attention as one his age could muster._

_The beginning of the tour had consisted, for the most part, of that; along with a good deal of Peter babbling his worries and “what-if’s” into Ralph’s shoulder. This is why when Peter tried to get his attention, it took several tries and the tug of a sleeve for him to finally get an exasperated:_

_“What, Peter?”_

_“Ralph! He’s not here!”_

_Ralph furrowed his brow, still not altogether focused on his chubbier friend. It also didn’t help that he wasn’t listening at all earlier._

_“Who’s not here?”_

_“That **weird** kid! The one who’s always talking to himself and...looking at things!!” Peter whispered violently. Ralph snorted, a habit obviously learned from early on._

_“Looking at things?” he asked._

_“You know what I mean!” Peter threw a punch towards his arm, “Everyone says he sees ghosts.” At this word, he looked around, as if at their mere mention they would all fly out towards him._

_“I didn’t know we had someone like that,” Ralph murmured to himself. If he did, he surely would have tried to talk to them, or at least try to see them “in action.” Peter waved this off._

_“You never notice rumors.” Ralph opened his mouth to argue, but Peter held his hand out,shushing him. “But the **point** is: he’s not here! He’s run off!”_

_“Maybe...he’s gone to the bathroom?” Ralph offered pitifully. Peter shook his head before he was even done with his sentence._

_“He’s obviously up to something. What if he’s talking to the ghosts here?” Peter’s eyes widened, “Or what if he’s summoning a demon?!”_

_“He’s not summoning a demon!” Ralph insisted, although already he was feeling the first stirrings of excitement flutter within him: if they found this kid, would they see real ghosts? That would be ten times better than any phony ghost tour._

_“We should go tell the tea--”_

_“We should go find him.” Ralph interrupted, already slowly inching away from the group. Peter tugged at his arm indignantly._

_“What are you thinking!? We’re the only people here!”_

_Ralph grabbed his hand and let it fall, “And that’s why we should go find him. If he’s walked off by himself then he’s also all alone and could be lost for all we know.”_

_Peter hesitated, “I don’t know Ralph…”_

_“C’mooon Butterface!” Ralph groaned, resorting to the most childish measures in his arsenal: name calling. Peter hated to be made fun of for his last name._

 _Just as expected, he spluttered. “It’s not Butterface, it’s Butterfield!”_

_“Not if you don’t come with me it’s not!” Ralph chuckled, tiptoeing away from their group and heading down the nearest corridor. Peter whispered for him to stop, looking between him and the rest of the children worriedly, before finally clenching his fists in defeat and following the blonde boy._

—————

Ralph rounded another corner and yup, not here either. It was amazing how long the the basement seemed to go on for. He had no doubt that it went on far past the original build of the house, and maybe even deep into the forest. He wasn’t quite sure if he should be afraid or curious at this point; it wasn't everyday that you found a mass network of underground tunnels after all. He settled on fear as something fell behind him.

“Shit!”

Yeah, curiosity could wait for when he was safe at home.

—————

_“Okay, now what?” Peter hissed, now that they were huddled together out of eyesight from the group, tiny complementary flashlights in hand._

_Ralph looked expectantly at his friend, “Now, you lead the way.”_

_“What?! How the hell would I know where he went??”_

_“You're the one who told me he left,” Ralph replied calmly._

_“That doesn't mean I watched where he went!” Peter waved his flashlight about wildly, casting long shadows on the yellowed walls._

_Ralph nodded at this, rather unperturbed, “Then that means we’ll just have to find him on our own then.” And began to make his way farther down the dark hallway.  
Knowing he could do nothing at this point to stop him, Peter followed after._

_The two had found themselves to be in a large lobby with a rotunda overhead, no doubt all of the offshooting hallways from the vestibule leading to the same place. That meant they'd have to make this quick; last thing they needed was their entire class walking in on them sneaking around. The rotunda area was no doubt beautiful when it was first built, and both Peter and Ralph had to wonder why such a thing was placed in a prison in the first place. Clearly some architect was trying to demonstrate their skills, although why they chose this as their venue was beyond the two of them._

_There were three stories in all to the building; a hallmark to the town’s earlier years when crime was at an all time high. And although there were multiple doorways leading out of the rotunda room (three on just the main floor alone,) only one on the second floor seemed to be in use. The rest of the doors were boarded off haphazardly, which looked rather unofficial if you asked Ralph._

_Which of course, with company like Peter, was exactly what was going to happen._

_“Why have they boarded this up so badly? It looks like a child’s work,” he groused, finding time even in fear to complain about something._

_“I don’t know, probably for atmosphere or something,” Ralph muttered offhandedly. He had known Peter long enough to talk to him with only half a mind; his other half focused on the problem at hand. Logically it would make sense to take the route upstairs, and therefore the only known safe route, but something in his gut was telling him that this kid wasn’t going to be drawn by the relative safety of things._

_Peter continued to talk through Ralph’s silence._

_“That staircase over there looks so old and rickety; when do you think the last time they replaced it was? Do we really have to walk up that thing? We can always turn back now you know, he may have turned up in our absence--!”_

_“Peter!” Ralph interrupted him. “It’s fine, we’re not taking that staircase.”_

_“Oh thank goodness!” he put a hand to his chest, not yet having broken the habit of mirroring his auntie’s body language._

_“--Because we’re going through there,” Ralph pointed to the boarded up entrance behind him._

—————

Ralph jumped as he saw yet _another_ shadow out the corner of his eye. He was beginning to think that if he didn't die down here from starvation, then he was sure to go from a heart attack or something equally as absurd.

“Maybe I’ve been going the wrong way?” he had begun talking to himself in hopes that it would distract from the quiet moaning of the wind (god, he hoped it was wind) and the incessant creaking noises that followed him throughout the halls. 

He had yet to venture into any of the doors yet; some having rotted away completely to leave only gaping black holes while others still retained their doors (albeit in various states of decay.) 

To his immediate right lay one such door: barely held on by its hinges and looking like it could fall at the slightest breath of air.

“Well,” Ralph breathed, “here goes nothing.”

—————

_“So this place is a giant circle,” Peter had his face buried in a pamphlet the tour guide had given them. In retrospect, Ralph was glad Peter has come along, seeing how he and just about everyone else had thrown it away the moment the guide had turned her head._

_“So,” he continued, “if we don't find him in the first cell block, we can just keep moving, we won't have to double back.”_

_Ralph nodded, more interested in making sure Peter didn't fall over. When they had said this area was off limits, they **really** meant it. Not only was it void of any light (even the vestibule and ghost tour had working lights: it was mandated by the state,) but those lights visible had wires sticking out at hazardous angles that left Ralph and Peter ducking uncomfortably. This, combined with fallen beams, left them little room to stretch out to their full height or avoid what was in their way. _

_“What makes you think he’s here anyway?” Peter looked up. “For all we know he could have gone to the upper floor.”_

_Ralph rolled his eyes, ducking under yet another beam. “You were the one who said he was batty enough to go on summoning demons. No demon-summoner is gonna go somewhere well lit and **fake** ,” he said matter of factly; it didn't matter that he had only heard of this boy today._

_Peter looked at him skeptically, although the effect was ruined by his yelp as something toppled near them._

_“Let’s just get out of here as soon as possible,” he said, this time more warily. “I’ve only heard weird stuff about this kid and this place gives me a bad feeling.”_

_Ralph remained quiet, but heeded his friend’s words and went a bit faster. After all, his childish curiosity was being slowly replaced with something more...foreboding? A chill had begun to crawl up his spine the closer they got to the leftmost cell block, compelling him to constantly check over his shoulder. He just couldn't shake the feeling that someone (something?) was watching them._

—————

Ralph was frozen where he stood, heart hammering against his chest with the sound of blood rushing through his ears drowning out all noise. 

He had made a terrible mistake.

Even with his entire brain yelling at him to run, his body remained stock still in the middle of the room. The entire surface of it, whether ceiling or floor, was covered in what could only be blood. 

Ancient blood, but blood nonetheless. 

The once dark red fluid had turned a dark brown (even black, in some places) over time, and was flaking off at this point. If Ralph stepped too harshly he could easily remove some with the tip of his shoe. And no doubt he did when he first came in, for it was everywhere. He had a feeling that maybe Piggy’s earlier comment about the shack being a serial killer’s wet dream might have actually held some weight. 

Ralph backed out slowly, covering his nose and mouth in horror. For some reason he felt like that strong coppery scent still lingered, and it set his stomach churning.

He ran out without a care for direction.

—————

_The first cell block had yielded useless—unless you, like Ralph, counted Peter getting his pants caught on bent cell bars and subsequently ripping them, a success—and Ralph would have agreed to go back had that feeling of foreboding not been getting worse and worse. Naturally, any sane 12 year old at that point would have high tailed it back to their chaperone and forgotten any of it ever happened (by the looks of it Peter wouldn’t argue the least bit if he tried) but Ralph was no normal 12 year old._

_No, he was a bit of an idiot._

_A courageous, stubborn idiot who was feeling incredibly worried not for himself, but for that nameless boy Peter had spoken so rudely of. If his instincts weren't just playing tricks on him, then his classmate could be in danger._

_“Ralph,” said boy wheezed, “stop walking so fast! It’s dusty in here and my asthma…!”_

_“You brought your inhaler didn't you?” he retorted uncaringly. He did not yet fully comprehend Peter’s illness, and therefore reacted to it with childlike cruelty._

_“Well, I did. But it’d really help if you…!”_

_“Wait! Stop! Do you hear that?” Ralph stopped him with the raise of his hand: they had arrived at the entrance to the main cell block._

_Peter looked at him questioningly and began to open his mouth again before Ralph shushed him once more. Finally getting the message, he remained quiet--albeit angrily--as Ralph raised a finger to his lips and opposite hand to his ear. They quieted their breaths and listened._

_In the next room, far away enough that it may have been on the other side, could be heard a low groaning noise; unwavering in tone or volume. Ralph could feel Peter grasp his shirt as he trembled beside him and truth be told, he was in no better state himself: his knuckles white where they clutched the door frame. Something in the back of his mind was telling him that perhaps it would have been a better idea to heed his instincts and let the teachers take care of missing students. Yet he also couldn’t deny the sympathetic pangs his heart gave at what was undeniably a groan of pain._

_He started forward, ignoring the pleading hiss from Peter to stay back, and followed the voice. It was a struggle to keep his flashlight towards the source of the noise; with all the debris yet to be cleared and the shadows his light casted, he couldn't help pointing it every which way to make sure no one would jump out of the shadows when he was least expecting it._

_He realized then exactly why that prison had been shut down so long ago: the cells seemed to close in and were mere feet apart from each other across the hall. If Ralph felt trapped, he could only imagine how the inmates had felt. The pained groaning certainly set the mood._

_All of the cell doors were--relatively--closed except for one, which stood near the end of the block and hung wide open: beckoning him towards it._

_‘Well,’ he thought, ‘I've come this far,’ and mentally braced himself for whatever was to come. There was no doubt in his mind that his classmate had somehow gotten into a terrible accident (tripped maybe? There were nails everywhere) and that was the whole reason for such pained moans. He was even prepared for the worst--a broken bone._

_But as Ralph slowly edged into the cell all he saw was...a boy. No blood, no broken bones, just...a boy._

_The boy’s back was towards him and he seemed to be unaware of (or too distraught to care about) Ralph’s presence entirely; having stopped his moaning the moment Ralph entered his cell._

_“H-hello?” Ralph’s voice shook; thoroughly wound up and battling the urge to run. He had to keep reminding himself that the only thing that lay in the cell was a boy, and a small one at that. Demons didn't exist, and neither did any sort of summoner of one!_

_He took a deep breath, and repeated this mantra to himself as he stepped closer towards the huddled figure in the corner of the cell._

_Demons didn't exist. Demons didn’t exist._

_“Excuse—excuse me?” he was now but a foot behind the figure, and they still failed to acknowledge him._

_Ralph cautiously extended a hand, not eager to startle, and tapped the boy’s shoulder._

_“Uhh, hey,” he was whispering, why was he whispering? “My name’s Ralph, my friend and I noticed you were gone from the group and came to find you. Are you okay?” The last syllable had just passed through his lips when the boy’s head shot up, so quickly Ralph would later swear he heard several bones crack._

_Being only 12 and a rather wholesome young man at that, he screamed and yelled the worst curse he knew of at the time, which happened to be:_

_“SHIT!”_

_He ran so quickly he was sure his father would be proud had he not also been screaming in terror at the same time. In all his rush to save his classmate, it had never occurred to him that they could be the source of danger that had his hairs standing on end just a few rooms before._

_Somewhere ahead of him, Ralph heard Peter stumbling to get away, his light sending terrifying shadows on the walls as he ran. Ralph reached him easily—nearly toppling him in his haste—before stopping him with a hand on the shoulder._

_“Peter, wait!” he hissed._

_Peter looked at him indignantly, eyes nearly popping out his head, but waited nonetheless when he noticed that nothing seemed to be following them. Ralph nodded solemnly, then motioned behind him, signaling his intent: he would try once more, hopefully with less screaming._

_Peter nodded in turn, but gave no indication of returning back with him: his feet planted firmly on the ground as he took in harsh breaths. One more stunt like that and Ralph would be carrying his portly body straight back to the teachers._

_Ralph turned back, trying his best to calm his trembling as he breathed through his nose; anything at all to quiet his approach. If that boy hadn't followed them, then perhaps he really was as distraught as Ralph had first guessed (although scaring him was highly unnecessary.) After all, he had failed to see any real demons, and maybe he was just making fun of them like that pig-nosed redhead in their class liked to do._

_With this thought fueling him (as well as half a mind to yell at this boy for scaring people for the heck of it) he made his way to the cell door and tried to dispel the mental image of demons contorting their bodies in horrific ways, all too similar to—_

_Moaning. That boy had started up his moaning again._

_**Instead this time it didn't remain monotonous, it grew and shrank with the curves of the hall. Each cell was letting out it's own cry, and it was a deep wail that set a pain about Ralph’s chest. Oh god would he do anything for it to cease. Yet perhaps unknown to him was that he was actually drawn to it: to the source of it all. His heart rang out in parallel sorrow and to ease it would mean the ease of the other.**_

_Ralph had reached the end of the hall, the moaning song fading until all was left was a small, dark haired boy, rocking back and forth in the corner of a dingy ancient cell._

_He put his hand on that bony shoulder, strangely at ease for reasons he wouldn't learn for years to come._

_“My name’s Ralph,” he murmured, squatting down, “What’s yours?”_

_He was met with eyes far too wise for their years, and a name he would learn to cherish:_

_“Simon.”_

—————

Ralph stumbled up the steps and burst through the door, panting like he had just run a mile. Simon, Piggy, and the twins stood in the middle of the room, beers in hand, and looking all the world as if Ralph hadn't just been trapped in a haunted fucking basement.

“Ralph!—”

“You made it out!” Sam n’ Eric yelled, rushing over towards him in wonder; Simon and Piggy hot on their heels.

Ralph’s anger fizzled out in the face of confusion, “What do you mean I ‘made it out?’” That was certainly an odd choice of words if he ever heard one.

“That door,” Piggy pointed to the door Ralph had just come from, “It wouldn’t budge at all, we all thought maybe it had rusted shut.” He eyed the doorway with trepidation, as if something might come hobbling up the old wooden steps any minute. Ralph couldn’t blame him: the complete pitch darkness of the opening was, quite frankly, ominous. It seemed to have a life of its own, expanding and contracting with creaking breaths. 

All of the boys, most likely thinking the same thing, shuddered at once. Simon, for the first time since Ralph’s arrival, spoke:

“I think it’s about time we got out of here.” They all turned towards him, and if possible, Piggy looked _more_ frightened. 

“I mean,” he continued, “we should get to finding that beach right?”

Sam n’ Eric nodded eagerly while Piggy held his beer tighter with both hands and shuffled closer to the two, giving a visual confirmation of “I go where they go.” They looked like a family of penguins huddling together in the cold, and Ralph would have chuckled if he didn’t want to join in too. 

“Yeah, let’s...let’s get out of here,” Ralph murmured, fingers twitching with anxiety at the newfound news. The door to the main floor had looked a bit odd, yes, but by no means was it hard to open. Piggy’s frantic eyes met his as they shuffled out of the room, message clear as day: if Simon was saying they needed to leave, they needed to _leave._

Ralph gave a minute nod, and stayed towards the back to catch Simon, turning around just as he pocketed something. 

“What was that?” he asked slowly. The last thing he needed was his psychic friend taking haunted objects from the very haunted cabin in the middle of the woods.  
Nothing about that sentence seemed good.

Simon only smiled warmly at him and grabbed his hands, and he found himself interlacing their fingers out of habit.

“You worry about me too much Ralph,” he tipped his head and removed one of his hands to flick Ralph’s forehead playfully. “When was the last time you just let go and had fun?” 

“Now you're starting to sound like my mom Si,” he smirked, before regaining his serious composure once again. “But you know that's not it. Si, about this cabin—”

“Hey dickheads!” Sam called.

“This shits a beach house!” Eric finished.

Ralph stopped and met Simon’s eyes once again, this time in fear. 

“Si-” 

“I know.”

_“But Si-”_

“Don't worry Ralph everything's gonna be oka-”

_**“Simon.”**_

He looked all the world as if nothing were amiss but his hands betrayed him, clenching Ralph’s till they went white. Ralph breathed in and tried again.

“Simon,” Ralph murmured, _“why didn't we hear the sea?”_

“Ralph,” he sighed, “you know you don't want the real answer to that.”

Realistically, there wasn’t really anything there that should have frightened him so: Simon was the one that had to deal with everything...otherworldly; his closest experiences till now only involving dragging his friend out of various establishments that you wouldn't normally think were haunted. But perhaps now that he had some idea of what it was like to _go through it_ , his lack of understanding of what was actually going on became all the more frightening. 

So when confronted with utter silence, so similar to the very kind he had experienced in the basement, all of his nerves set themselves on edge again, preparing for an attack he didn't know how to cope with.

After all, how was he supposed to find everything “okay” when he didn't even know what he was dealing with? It was as if the cabin lived in a different state of being than the rest of its surroundings, only really there physically. He had read on the internet once—back when he and Simon had first met and all of the occult was but a mystery to him—that some people believed that all objects, living and nonliving, had a soul, an _essence_ of some kind. He had never become quite invested in the idea (not being one for the supernatural unless it involved Simon’s safety,) but he couldn't help but think of it now: the cabin’s spirit felt…

Absent?

Ugh. He was no good at this, despite anything Simon may say.

He felt it all too apt to blame his spiral into sudden superstition on Simon’s presence; he always managed to invoke this odd feeling of otherworldliness that seemed to affect even the area around him. In what other situation would he normally be considering the state of the soul of a house?

And yet Ralph’s mind seemed to linger on the single chair and table where it all started; if the cabin was really only there physically, then it's basement felt like a whole other dimension: separate from their plane both physically and spiritually. He could still recall the eerie silence he seemed to have been drowned in, the chair and table beckoning him forward. Just conjuring the image of them in his mind set him on edge, and he clutched Simon’s hand in a vice grip much like he had done earlier. Perhaps later, if Simon still wasn't in that odd mood of his, he would speak to him about what he heard. 

Or not.

Ralph could only deal with so much after all.

As if hearing Ralph’s thoughts of him--or merely wanting to regain circulation in his hand--Simon stroked Ralph’s arm in a soothing gesture.

“The worst part’s over,” he murmured gently.

Ralph sighed and nodded, getting the hint and unclenching his hand before deciding to let go entirely. Simon furrowed his brow, looking as if he were going to say something once more, but Ralph just smoothed down the crease between his eyes and smiled.

“Why don't we go and join everyone else?”

“Yeah you pussies, can we have some fun now that we’re leaving the dark scary house?” Eric interjected mockingly, but there was a lack of bravado to it. Even Piggy, quick to offend, only huffed in indignation, but gave no argument. They were, after all, all eager to leave the--quite dark--house.

With a sigh of relief from all of them, Sam opened the back door into the dingiest porch Ralph had ever seen. Although the feeling of victory was a short lived one, for if it weren’t for the refreshing return of outside sound, he probably would have hesitated to step foot on the rickety old thing. Sam n’ Eric of course, held no such reservations: running forward and nearly meeting the water in their haste. The rest of the group was quick to follow, all too happy to get out of what the twins had started to call “the midnight murder house,” (“What do you think huh? Good one right?”)

“So,” Sam clapped his hands together once they were all on the sand, the cabin but an ominous shadow in the distance, “Who knows how to make a fire?” 

Ralph groaned and Piggy slapped his forehead in an almost comic like gesture.

“You didn't even bring your lighters? You? Of all people?” Piggy yelled. The twins just looked at each other and shrugged. Ralph rubbed at the growing headache setting between his eyes, struggling to find the upside to any of the events of the evening. He usually dismissed the twins’ follies, but so many in one night was turning him to Piggy levels of irritation.

“Maybe--I don't know--we can use one person’s flashlight; stick it upwards in the sand or something. How’s the battery life on those things?”  
At his question, his phone and Sam n’ Eric’s lights shut off, leaving them lit only by the dim glow of Piggy and Simon’s flashlights.

“Well,” he sighed, “that answers that question.” 

“This is fucking unbelievable,” Piggy hissed, now holding his empty beer bottle like he was about to beat the twins with it. Ralph may or may not have been willing to look away and plead the 5th if he chose to do so.

“Heeeyyyy” Eric placated, putting his arm around Piggy’s shoulders. “You know what you need?” He gently pried the flashlight and beer bottle (I.e. potential weapon) out of Piggy’s fingers and handed them to Ralph, who took them without thinking. 

“To never listen to one of your shitty ideas ever again?” he growled.

“No,” he patted his shoulder and cast a mischievous look towards Sam, “what you need, my friend, is a good swim.” Piggy was able to look confused for all of two seconds before Sam n’ Eric were hollering unintelligibly, grabbing either of his arms and dragging him towards the sea; throwing him downwards as soon as the water was calf-deep. 

“You dicks!” he shrieked, spitting out sea water. “There’s salt in my eyes!” 

Sam n’ Eric laughed and high fived, uncaring of Piggy’s predicament. Ralph shook his head and turned towards Simon, ready to make a scathing comment.

Only to find that his friend had once again disappeared.

_Oh god, not again_ , Ralph inwardly groaned, searching for him as best as he could in the dark. By this point he knew that Simon was perfectly capable of taking care of himself--even in the face of abandoned haunted shacks--so he wasn't all that worried for his friend’s safety as much as the safety of his pants lest he be snuck up on again. 

“Simon!” he called out, ignoring the continuous bickering and splashing behind him.

“Over here!” the call came from somewhere a little ways down the beach, and Ralph made his way over to find Simon huddled over a pile of debris--no doubt found from the shack by the looks of it--and a match set in hand. He shone Piggy’s flashlight on his face specifically so he could lift an eyebrow at his odd friend, who chuckled. 

“I found it in the house: I figured we’d probably need it.”

“You just wanted to see Piggy get thrown into the ocean didn't you?” Ralph grinned; relief flooded him at the fact that the object his friend seemed to have pocketed was only a set of matches, there were far worse things to take from an abandoned cabin.

“Maybe,” Simon chuckled, finally lighting a working match and setting it against the debris. 

Ralph watched the growing flames, feeling a growing sense of unease replace his comfort with every crackle. Ever since he had left the shack he felt...shaky; as if that entire debacle had drained him of his energy. And although he had lost quite a bit of weight in the past year (his father liked to remind him of this with scathing comments as _frequently_ as possible,) he had never been one to grow tired this easily. Truth be told, he was completely ready to lay down and take a nap right there, and nothing scared him more. He had no idea how to handle these conflicting feelings of exhaustion and anxiety: the need to run--to get out--while at the same time doubting your own will to do so. There was just something about this place that filled him with an inherent sense of wrong, and he was just itching to get away. 

Damned if he told his friends that though. 

_They're finally having a good time, let's not ruin it._

The dragging sound of a cooler on sand broke him out of his thoughts and he looked upward to see Piggy sandwiched between Sam n’ Eric, all of them soaked to the bone. Piggy, yet another drink in hand, posed a comical contrast to the grinning twins with his rather sour look. Simon smiled without a hint of malice.

“Enjoy your swim?” 

Sam n’ Eric cackled wildly, throwing their heads up towards the night sky and holding their sides while Piggy sat down glumly, setting his beer down to warm his hands by the fire.

“It was fine, thanks,” he said dryly. 

Sam n’ Eric, still standing, waggled their eyebrows at each other and made a series of hand gestures Ralph couldn't decipher before sitting down on either side of Piggy.

“Awww did we get our lil’ Piggy angry?” Sam asked, putting one arm around his shoulders. 

“You know we didn't mean to,” Eric followed his twins lead: encaging Piggy between them.

“Stop patronizing me you twats.” 

“We would never!” they yelled in tandem. Piggy rolled his eyes and did what he did best: ignored them. 

Or tried to at least. 

“You know, Sam, with him calling us all these rude names I don't know if we should give him... _the stuff_.” 

Piggy’s head perked up at this, but his eyes remained resolutely towards the fire.

“You know, Eric, I think you might be right. Anyone who's so mean to us doesn't deserve our _special goods_.” Sam said, winking at Piggy when he finally looked up to meet their eyes, his reaction was immediate.

He flushed.

“Will you two stop! You sound like a couple of middle schoolers talking about weed!” he spluttered, looking down into his beer bottle for salvation. 

“Oh please, what we have,” Eric started, taking away his bottle once again.

“Is much better than weed,” Sam grinned, pulling out a flask from his jacket.

Piggy’s eyes widened, following the flask’s every movement.

“You didn't.”

“We did.”

“Snatched it from the old man when he was out with some chick; knew it was your favorite.” Sam winked again and gently tossed the flask to Piggy, who accepted it with an awestruck look. 

“But, won't he find out?” 

“It'll be fine,” Eric bluffed, squeezing his shoulder, “we can always just replace it later.” 

Piggy twisted open the cap and smelled the contents, before knocking back a good half of it. 

“Wwhhoooaaa there partner, take it slow,” Sam said, almost reaching for the flask. But there was no need to, Piggy was looking down at it then with gleaming eyes and a satisfied smile.

“You know, I know I'm always saying rude things to the two of you but honestly, you're the best friends I've ever had,” a tear was making its way down his cheek. “I love you guys.” 

The look on the twins faces was one of great elation, and Ralph was almost sorry the two didn't have that recorded: it wasn't something you exactly heard everyday. 

“We—”

“Love you too!” they yelled, and tackled him down into the sand in their effort to hug him.

“UGH! You idiots! The caps still open!”

This, Ralph thought, was why he loved Sam n’ Eric so much. Though they could be almost malicious in their tag teaming, and equally unrelenting when it came to--what they considered--a good joke, they still cared for their friends in their own odd way. It was, after all, the twins who were the first to jump to his aid when he had the shit beaten out of him by that fuckwank in the 8th grade (though the wounds they incurred were mostly self inflicted, gained in the fight’s confusion. He appreciated the thought nonetheless.) 

In his more affectionate moments for them, Ralph would compare them to Simon: feeling that all three had insights he could not comprehend. That wasn't to say that Simon and the twins were the same however, oh no, the exact opposite. Sam n’ Eric had little comprehending of their surroundings unless it served some sort of specific purpose. At times, even, Ralph (and Piggy especially) would argue that they had little comprehension of people as well: their words slipping past with little to no thought. 

And yet, it was times like this that gave Ralph pause. They never quite apologized for their actions (because that would be living with regret, and that would be unacceptable) but instead seemed to look inside a person, finding their needs--whether it be coming to aid in a fight or something weird like, well, whatever they just did, and letting _that_ speak for them. 

Ralph let his eyes wander over all of his friends; he cherished them dearly.

Simon took this moment to catch Ralph’s eye, a satisfied twinkle gleaming there as he patted the sand next to him. Ralph took the message and finally sat down. He would push any thoughts of strange voices away for now: for his friend’s sake.

Simon, on the other hand, seemed to have a different idea.

“Ralph--” he murmured, setting his hand down atop the other’s.

Several warning bells went off in Ralph's head; Simon only initiated contact when something was wrong. He narrowed his eyes and waited for the bad news.

“Are you alright?” he asked.

“Huh?” that was unexpected, although not entirely unappreciated. He _had_ planned to speak to Simon about it all later, but he supposed doing it sooner couldn't really hurt.

He looked off into the fire, trying his best to appear normal to the others as he relayed his story to Simon in hushed tones. When he was finished, his friend looked grim at best.

“You said you heard...voices?” he asked, no longer having to stay quiet under the raucous drunk laughter of their friends. 

“I guess?” it sounded like a question. “It was more like radio static,” Ralph rubbed the back of his neck, feeling strangely inept.

If possible, Simon furrowed his brows even further. Ralph was about ready to call a quits to this whole conversation: if anything he was only getting more agitated by the second.

“I don't think we should come here again,” Simon murmured, perhaps more to himself than to Ralph.

Ralph just groaned and put his head in his hands, way to leave it to Simon to say something incredibly ominous and terrifying. He loved the guy but really, he could really do well to learn some tact.

“Ralph,” Simon fretted, “are you okay?”

He waved him off, assuring him that no he wasn't hearing any more voices and yes he was on this spiritual plane thank you Simon.

“So who wants drinks!” yelled Sam, accompanied by the chorus of ‘Drinks, drinks, drinks!’ from his twin and a slightly inebriated Piggy: arm in arm and both on their third beer.

“Ugh, ya know what, toss me one Sam.” Ralph had always been a light drinker and took pride in the fact he knew when to stop, but hell if he couldn't use a good beer right about then.

He cursed as Sam’s lousy (re: drunken) aim landed him a beer can to the head. But Ralph was nothing if not the king of compromise, so he settled for taking sips of it while glaring at the fire.

He couldn't drink fast enough; each crack of the flames reminding him of those same voices he heard inside the shack. He could feel Simon’s studious gaze on him and it set his nerves on edge: to be watched like some sort of experiment. 

Ralph nearly gagged as he gulped down the rest of his beer, and rose to his feet without preamble. Upon Simon’s questioning gaze he answered:

“Going for a swim,” truth be told, he hadn't really decided that until he’d asked. Ralph just felt the need to _go_ somewhere.

“I’ll go with you,” Simon said, already on his way to his feet. Ralph stopped him with the wave of a hand.

“You should stay here and watch over our...temporarily disabled.” He looked over to where the twins were pouring sand down each other's backs. Some would argue that they weren't any different sober.

“But what about you?” 

“I'll be fine! I'll take Piggy with me! Wanna come with, Piggy?” he called over. Truth be told, Piggy looked in no condition to go anywhere: his glasses hung slightly off his face while he tried his best to make a sandcastle; half in awe and half in anger that it wouldn’t stay up. 

He looked up with slightly glazed eyes and nodded. Ralph hated to use him as a scapegoat, but desperate times called for taking advantage of your drunk friends.

“Great!” he yelled, throwing his empty bottle carelessly towards the vicinity of the cooler and helping Piggy stumble to his feet.

Simon looked at him skeptically and Ralph shrugged.

“I'm sure he'll be able to at least yell if I start drowning.”

“I can't...swim...on account of my...asthma,” Piggy hiccuped, leaning heavily onto Ralph. Sam n’ Eric--themselves not doing too well either--found this to be the funniest thing they heard all night, and broke out into a chant of: “ASS-ma! He has ASS-ma!”

“Yup,” Ralph agreed, “he certainly does. Let’s go Piggy.” And began to gently push him towards the waterline. 

He heard Simon sigh behind him and felt a twinge of pain in his heart. It wasn't that he was angry at him really, it was just that sometimes, he needed a break from the gloom and the supernatural; Simon just didn't know how to turn it off. It wasn't that he blamed him for anything it was just...tiring.

At the shoreline, with the raucous laughter of the twins far behind him, Ralph let out a sigh of relief. The salty sea air and the gentle wind did much to calm his frayed nerves, and he was thankful for the large black rocks edging into the ocean that could hide him from the view of the others; he really needed a moment to himself. 

“Can't...swim...hic!” 

“You're so lucky my phones dead man,” Ralph muttered, staring at the pitiful sight before him. Not that he didn't understand though, because really, he did. There was a reason Piggy was so high strung all the time, and even Sam n’ Eric understood his insults were just a product of stress. Their “booz-a-palooza’s” were probably the only time he got to unwind. 

“Hey man,” Ralph said, jostling him a bit to get his attention. “Why don't you just stay here and...build a sandcastle or something?” There was a small pool a little ways away that was bound to keep the drunken mind stupefied, but even Ralph wasn't that stupid; he wasn't going to risk his friend falling over and drowning in 10 inches of water of all things. 

Piggy seemed to consider this for a moment, before giving him a nod--or something akin to one--and plopping down on the ground at his feet. 

“Uh, well, cool. Now that that’s settled.” Ralph began to undress down to his boxers, careful not to throw any of his clothes onto Piggy’s sand...mound, lest he upset him and end the night dealing with drunken tears.

Down to just his boxers, Ralph took one last look at Piggy--making sure to point his finger at him in the most threatening way possible--before heading out towards the sea. 

He hummed in contentment as the first wave brushed over his feet. It was late summer, so the water was still warm and he had no trouble wading in, enjoying the feel of the water as it washed over his skin. He kept on like that till the water reached his chin, then let himself float upward, reclining on his back and looking up at the stars.

This far out, the sky glittered brilliantly, uninhibited by man’s lights. Even a bit of the tail of the Milky Way could be seen, creating a dazzling river of stars.  
Ralph reached up towards this river--there was no one to make fun of him, so he could be as ridiculously sentimental as he wanted--and traced it with his fingertip.  
When he was little, his mother would read him a story of a pair of lovers who would meet over a river of stars, and he would always imagine himself in the stead of the lovers--he was a child, love meant little to him--looking down on the earth from his very own star river. Sometimes, he would still have that same dream, and it always remained a secret fancy of his.

Ralph felt something brush along his back, but paid it no mind; he had gone swimming in the outdoors enough to become used to the presence of fish. 

He let his arm flop back into the water and glided further out, enjoying the feeling of weightlessness. But his movements did little to scare away whatever was touching his back, for it actually began to press against him at increasingly small intervals.

_What's up with the marine life here? Do people come here more often than we thought?_

He could barely finish his thought before Ralph felt a tugging at his shorts.

“Huh? Hu--AAHHHH!”

Two limbs, that felt strikingly like hands reached up and grabbed hold of his arms, tugging him downwards beneath the water. Ralph fought desperately--both for air and against whatever was tugging him deeper and deeper--but the limbs were too strong, clutching him in a way that was sure to bruise. 

_Ralph…!_

It was that same voice again, except now it seemed...clearer? Less garbled, perhaps. Although that wouldn't make sense since they would both be underwater…  
Agh, nothing was making sense to Ralph any longer. His vision was going black and he was no longer sure if it was due to the lack of oxygen or the depth he had been taken too. Could he even swim up on his own at this rate? 

_Ralph…!_

“Ralph!”

A great splashing sound sounded above him (beneath him? Next to him? He couldn't tell anymore,) and a second set of hands joined the first, batting them away with surprising ferocity. Ralph found himself once again grabbed by the arms as he was presumably dragged to the surface. 

The surface, it seemed, wasn't a very fun place to be. It was filled with yelling and splashing, and his body being hastily thrown on the sandy ground. Granted, the water in his ears dulled the overall cacophony, and the lips on his own were nice, if not eerily _wrong_ (they were too _soft_ , too _full_ ; when there should have been _thin_ and _chapped_.)

Ralph came to with a start, turning over to hack out the water in his lungs. Simon’s worried face was not inches from his own, and he held his back comfortingly all the while. 

“Ralph! Are you okay? What happened?” Simon couldn't resist gently taking Ralph’s chin to look him in the eyes, hoping that maybe if he were to look into them, something of this night would make sense.

But Ralph was in no mood, turning his head away and shaking it wordlessly; how could you relate what just happened in mere words?

The rest of the night’s events, or those he could recall at least, he remembered in a surreal blur, some of the memories seeming to happen at different speeds entirely, although he was sure that wasn't the case.

While Ralph sat trying his best to avoid Simon’s eyes, the others--seeing as their friend suffered no short term damage--went off to find the nearest thing they could mess with, as was often the case when Sam n’ Eric got blasted out of their minds.

In this case, the result of their search happened to be the pool which Ralph had barred Piggy from earlier. 

The pool was blocked off from the rest of the sea entirely by the black rocks that littered the rest of the beach. The only time it ever filled was during high tide, leaving a number of interesting specimens for the curious eye during low tide. 

Or, really, the inebriated eye. But what's the difference, really.

Sam, Eric, and Piggy had sat themselves down in the pool like a couple of children, occasionally throwing things they found “gross” at each other or showing off their latest find. Piggy had regained some of his earlier vitality as he started to sober up, and was particularly into this search. 

He let out a triumphant cry that had even Ralph shakily raising his head from the ground, as he lifted his hand from the water with a pink conch shell in hand. The shell was amazingly clean for having been under the sand, and it gleamed under the starlight, setting the area around it in a hazy pink glow. So astounded was Piggy with his discovery that he got up and rushed over to Simon and Ralph, eager to show them what he thought was the essence of beauty itself. In his fogged up mind Ralph marveled at the speed at which Piggy could move and how he seemed so much more...real than the space around him.

Ralph raised himself upwards, despite Simon’s protestations. Perhaps whatever was calling Piggy towards it was calling him in the same manner, for Ralph felt compelled to reach out and stroke the silky surface. 

“Ralph…!” Simon hissed. But that was all the warning he had before his fingers grazed the shell’s tip and his stomach flopped as if he had suddenly done a dozen cartwheels without stopping. Acid burned at the back of his throat and he could only look up at Simon with panicked eyes and hope he got the message.  
Simon looked back at him, if not just as panicked and looked towards Piggy who still sat there, mystified with his finding.

“Piggy, back away!” he yelled, and cringed as he shoved him backwards. He’d have to apologize for that later, but certain people took priorities at the moment.  
Simon held Ralph’s shoulders as he puked, worried that in his delirious state he might also end up falling forward. 

“It’s okay, ssshhh. It'll be alright,” Simon murmured, rubbing soothing circles into his back. 

“I didn't even...drink that much,” Ralph moaned. 

“I know. I know you didn't,” Simon said forgivingly. It was true, Ralph had only had one can the entire night, and even _he_ wasn't that much of a lightweight. 

Behind them, Piggy had gotten up and was looking at the two with a sour expression, cradling the conch to his chest. While Sam n’ Eric, getting the feeling that they were missing out on the fun, finally wandered over from their place in the pool and began prodding him, eager to understand the situation. 

Ralph lay rather unresponsive at Simon’s feet, and he was beginning to worry whether he would even make it back towards the fire. 

“Sam! Eric! Can you help me carry Ralph? I think he’s blacked out.” Simon turned his attention away from the aforementioned deadweight only to find the twins throwing the conch like they were in a game of rugby; Piggy chasing it between them. 

“Guys!” he shouted, slinging Ralph’s arm over his shoulder. “Put that conch down.” 

The three boys stopped for all of two seconds before starting up again with renewed vigor. 

“It's a _haunted conch_!” Eric yelled, passing it to Sam.

“If Simon doesn't want us to have it, it has to be haunted!” Sam returned, throwing it back to his twin. Only Piggy seemed to think otherwise. 

“It is not haunted! Now give it back!” he slurred; it was a surprise that he was still standing on his own and Ralph wasn’t. 

“Sam, Eric, give Piggy back his conch,” Simon called back, struggling to drag Ralph towards the fire. Worse came to worse, he could always convince Piggy to let go of the shell later, if he didn't forget about it entirely come morning.

Reaching the fire, Simon set Ralph down with a grunt and removed his jacket, covering his friend with it before sitting next to him solemnly.

This place was far worse than he thought, and he only had himself to blame. After all, if he hadn't told them about the shack, they could have just turned back and gone home. They’d all be a bit angry, sure, but that was better than….

Simon looked down at Ralph’s slim form beside him; shivering despite the humidity.

_Stupid, Stupid, Stupid! This is all because you try so hard to please everyone!_

He drew his knees up and tucked his head down, holding back tears. If only he hadn’t disregarded what he heard when he came here by himself. They were quiet, mere echoes, so he thought everyone would be fine. But he should have listened harder. If he did he would have heard how hard it was grasping out, practically begging to be heard. Maybe then he would have known that Ralph, with all his spiritual sensitivity—something he was convinced was also his fault—would be susceptible to it and no idea how to defend himself.

But no, for once in his life, he ignored the voices because all he wanted was to see Ralph smile. And all he managed was the opposite.

Simon curled up next to Ralph so that their foreheads were barely touching.

“I’m so sorry, Ralph.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS TOOK SO LONG AND I HONESTLY CANT EVEN TELL YOU WHY
> 
> On a side note: Piggy and the twins are my ot3 i love my stupid children.


End file.
